Tanned, rested and ready...

 

DON’T WORRY, BE HAPPY

THE ELDER MANIFESTO

 

I sincerely hope that all of our friends will pause at this moment and send their best regards and prayers to my wife, Amy. Her greatest fear has come true: I have decided to run for President again.

Amy is afraid I’ll win this time.

After taking a look at the long list of Bozos likely to run in 2024, then at the two idiots likely to earn their disrespective party nominations, you can see Amy’s point. The nation is desperately looking for someone else.

“I don’t want to live in Washington,” Amy told me.

“Neither do I,” I replied.

“You do if you want to run for President,” said the would-be First Lady.

“Actually, my master plan is much better than you realize,” I said in a soothing voice.

My master plan is to secure the nomination (I’ll announce which party later), sweep my way into office by a magisterial voting mandate and take the oath. I’ll enjoy a few parties, take some selfies in the Oval Office and then resign after a few days. All I really want is the retirement package all former Presidents are entitled to. I won’t even need a Presidential Library. Think of the savings!

          With that in mind, I’d need to have a really top-notch Vice President. My top choice has said many times that she is not interested in returning to government service, so I can’t choose her. My second choice might not be available if she wins a return to her Congressional seat this year and I don’t want to interfere with that effort. She is too important to her state to waste her time in the White House.

          So my VP choice is a guy who has the time to do the job, is more liberal than I am on some matters and more conservative than I am on others. He has administrative experience, deep knowledge of many aspects of American society and, incredibly, knows how to herd cats.

          My VP choice: Buck Weber.

          And if Buck Weber is not elected to the Vice Presidency, I’ll serve my entire four-year term. Think about that one for a minute.

          Upon entering the White House, my first act as POTUS would be to start playing the theme song for our campaign on the intercom: Don’t Worry, Be Happy. I want everyone calm.

          What the special interest groups miss, what our foreign adversaries want us to forget, the thing our crazed social media has lost track of is this: We have the best nation in the world. Ours is the best constitutional government on the planet. If our elected officials shut up and listen, they’ll find that we actually are led by We, the People. We the People are tired of the mind-blowing pace, make that the MINDLESS pace of finger-pointing in all levels of government. The ones with the most to hide wag their fingers the most vigorously and We the People want that nonsense to end.

          Vote for Elder.

          We the People want leadership with a heavy dose of quality control. We don’t seem to have any quality control in government just now. We need that in abundance. In my one and only cabinet meeting, I’d tell all the Secretaries to shut up and run their departments like the administrators they are supposed to be. Run the departments so that those departments serve the American people and do it with a healthy dose of quality control. In other words, I want them to do their jobs. The job title is SECRETARY and what we need at the top of each governmental department is a competent secretary.

We want our borders secure, our military veterans cared for and our teachers stocked with the tools they need to teach. All of us want those things, we just disagree how to do it. Americans want the best government we can get with the lowest possible taxes. We don’t like the idea of hunger in this nation, we want farmers to make a fair profit and we refuse to be dictated to by the governments of other nations. We don’t even listen to our own government very often. People fought wearing masks at the start of the pandemic, remember? A skill like herding cats can come in handy in government.

We want to push the sciences in school so we can return to our role as the world’s leader in the scientific development. That way we can get a grip on global warming and figure out the best way to deal with it. That means serious investment in both the theoretical sciences and in the trades. Once we think the stuff up someone is going to have to make it all work. That means builders, installers, maintenance workers, logistical experts and repair people. We the People are going to need that stuff. Deep down inside, we all know it. So we have to push the hard subjects in school: Math and sciences. I almost flunked a shop class in junior high, so we’d better push that stuff as well.

Vote for Elder.

What we need is a calm reassessment of ourselves. We’re better than everyone else and that’s why so many other nations don’t like us. If we all concentrate on our own areas of responsibility and complete the daily assignment, we’ll be fine. Where we run into trouble is when we start telling everyone else how to do their job. Pretty soon, quality control goes out the window.

          Abraham Lincoln is alleged to have said that it is better to keep your mouth shut and be thought a fool than it is to speak and clear the matter up. Sadly, the people we have in office now spend a lot of their time clearing things up. That is generally true at all levels of government and it has been for a long time. Remember Richard Nixon? He used to say, “Let me make one thing perfectly clear.”

          So you see my point, right? Vote for Elder.

I appreciate your votes. We’ll win, don’t worry. And remember to be happy.

Book review: Fly Girls

 

          Author Keith O’Brien’s book, Fly Girls: How Five Daring Women Defied All Odds And Made Aviation History, covers the growth of aviation in the 1920s and ‘30s and the contributions of women who flew during that time. It’s about gender bias and history, racing competition, public relations and determination. Despite the title, this book is about more than just five women. In fact, it is about more than just women. It is about an entire industry.

          To be blunt, this is just a heck of a book. A great read, published in 2018 by Houghton Mifflin. O’Brien is a former newspaper reporter and has been a contributor to National Public Radio.

          The best-known female pilot from the 20s and 30s was Amelia Earhart. Her role in the growth of aviation and in the women’s movement in general is covered in this fine book. However, O’Brien makes it clear from the start that his book is about all of the women pilots of the time: Louise Thaden, Ruth Nichols, Florence Klingensmith, Blanche Noyes and lots of others. (Among those fliers chronicled in this telling is an Alabama-born woman named Ruth Elder. Elder is not a relative of my family, so far as can be determined.) All of the pilots mentioned struggled to be allowed to compete in the air races of the day. They were barred for years; the races were male-only events. Eventually, Thaden skunked everyone when she won a major cross-country race to Los Angeles and the boys had to wake up to a sobering fact: Women made good fliers.

          O’Brien is a deft storyteller and his research is outstanding. The writing flows at a very enjoyable pace. The story and O’Brien’s smooth writing pulls you right along. The only complaint here is the book follows its path without footnotes. If the reader wonders about a specific passage, there are notes in the back of the book, arranged by page number. This reviewer prefers the old school style with footnotes at the bottom of the page.

          Structurally, Fly Girls is composed of an introduction and 22 chapters. There are 35 images in the middle of the book. The Acknowledgments section in the back of the book is absolutely important to read. This reviewer values high-quality research, always reading this section of non-fiction books. The passage about O’Brien’s conversations with Thaden’s daughter tells the reader about the impact doing the research had on him. For this reader, it was the perfect ending.

          The story of women fighting for their place in the growth of aviation has direct application to today’s world. Even today, roughly a century after the point where Fly Girls begins, women continue to fight for equality. Look no further than the field of sports, generally, and automobile racing in particular. Women are winning championships in drag racing but they struggle to get major sponsorships or a chance to drive the best equipment in other forms of the sport. Some female racers reach stardom, like Earhart did, but others demonstrate great talent without getting the same recognition.

          This is a book worth reading. It is about history. It is about airplanes. Most of all, it is about people. What’s more important than that?

 

  

Golf's world: 2 ways to chase money

 

Professional golf is like tennis, figure skating or bowling: It is sporting’s version of a high-wire act.

          If you play well, you win money. If you play exceptionally well, you win even more money. If you win a tournament, you win a lot of money. If you play golf so poorly that you have to go home after only two rounds of play, it costs you money. Your travel, food and entry fees are all on you.

          For that reason, finding sponsorship is as important for golfers as it is for racing teams. The mid-pack players who don’t usually play among the leaders can continue to play each week with help from sponsors. There is no golf tournament or even a golf tour without the players who finish in the middle of the pack or lower. The stars have to beat someone to win, don’t they?

          Professional golfers are accustomed to the high-wire lifestyle. These elite athletes play with the pressure that comes from the play good-or-go-home reality that the game provides.

          For that reason, the new professional golf tour, bankrolled by Saudi Arabia, probably looks attractive to some touring pros. The new tour offers huge purses. The Saudis have extended big-dollar offers to the game’s top players; bonus pay on top of tournament winnings that could set some golfers for life. The new tour is offering the throw money around like kids throw sand at the beach.

          The cash has attracted attention. Greg Norman, once among the world’s best players and now a tremendous businessman, is the spokesman for the new tour. Phil Mickelson, who is among the game’s most popular figures, has indicated an interest in playing on the new tour, although he has seemingly waffled on the idea. Norman and Michelson are part of the old guard. A few younger players have indicated they will play on the new tour. Tiger Woods, who remains golf’s most popular figure, declined to jump ship. Jack Nicholas declined an invitation to serve as an administrator for the new tour.

          Norman has been exceptionally critical of the Professional Golfers Association (PGA) tour since the Saudi-back group was announced. The PGA will not allow players on the new tour to participate in PGA events. Players have requested waivers but none have been granted.

          So far, lots of noise with no real discussion of the actual point.

          Saudi Arabia is using international sports to get itself a better reputation among the family of world nations. The Kingdom hosts Formula One auto races and is active on the great stage provided by international soccer. While the Kingdom’s rulers feel free to murder some journalists, sports reporters are welcomed. Human rights is a subject sports reporters seldom worry about and those rights are an issue in Saudi Arabia. It is the Saudis’ idea that those issues might be covered over with the veneer of sporting competition.

          Norman has been asked about the human rights issue and the murder of a reporter by his employers. He does his best to blow those questions off, saying his only interest is in the future of golf.

          So, basically, professional golfers have a choice. They can follow likeable fellows like Greg Norman and Phil Michelson and play on a tour backed by a Kingdom that represses women and murders reporters. Or professional golfers can play golf in the rest of the world.

          It is true that the rest of the world is not perfect. There are problems everywhere you look.

Golf isn’t perfect, either, although it is a dynamic sport and has usually changed for the better. Most professional tournaments in the United States benefit local charities. The growth of the women’s professional tour (the LPGA) over the last decade and a half is a terrific indicator that the game’s popularity is growing.

Greg Norman’s idea that golf can be used to wallpaper over repression and murder doesn’t ring true here. There is no reason to believe that Norman supports the repression of women’s rights and the murder of journalists. But he’s taking money from people who do.

Speedylee supports the PGA and LPGA tours and their tightropes. The best players make the most money, the women’s game is growing and the reporters are not getting killed.

Thanks for reading.

A Park, an Institute and an opinion

 WARNING: The following blog expresses opinions.

Some very nice news crossed this computer screen last month: The Little Round Top area at the Gettysburg National Military Park will be open for visitors when we go there in June.

          The Park is in the midst of a major repair-and-expand project at both LRT and the Devil’s Den areas. LRT was expected to be closed by early June so the workers could continue their work. But now the closure is not expected until July. If you value the Park, then you understand how important the project is. Still, it would have been disappointing to visit the battlefield and not spend time on that famous, little hill. If you ever get there, sit on a rock and listen. You can learn a lot.

          The visit to LRT will be just the beginning of an extraordinary week in Gettysburg. Two days after we arrive, the Civil War Institute at Gettysburg College will begin. The CWI is an annual conference, a gathering of the best-known scholars in the field and a lot of enthusiasts. The CWI will draw better than 400 attendees this year. Whether that’s a record or not, it’s a big bunch of folks. For many of us, it is the highlight of the year.

          One of the highlights this year will be a roundtable debate about Confederate General James Longstreet, the best general the Union side had. Yes, Longstreet was a Confederate. Yes, it says here that he was the best soldier of any rank the UNION army had. There are many who disagree with that assessment. The roundtable roster will include no less than four all-stars: Gary Gallagher, Carol Reardon and Jeffrey Wert are the panelists and Peter Carmichael will moderate. This panel and topic would attract 400 attendees if it was the only topic of a one-night argument. In fact, if it WAS a one-night event, a hockey game might break out over seating. Each year, parts of the CWI are carried live on one of the CSPAN networks. If this panel is part of that coverage, you don’t want to miss it on Sunday, June 12. Consult your local listings.

          Each year the CWI includes lectures, chances to dine in a small group with a scholar to discuss a specific topic and tours of both the Gettysburg battlefield and others. If you like history, especially Civil War history, you should at least watch on CSPAN.

          Gettysburg is an unusual place. The battlefield lends itself to photography, even though it is not a haven for artists. Its history is such that it draws millions of visitors. No American military event, save possibly the Battle of the Bulge and the decision to drop the atomic bomb on Japan, has been researched so completely.

          So, add Gettysburg to your bucket list. Watch the CWI on CSPAN, especially the Longstreet discussion. American history is right here at home and it is waiting for you to come visit.

          Thanks for reading. 

Bonneski and Clydeofski

Now Bonnie and Clyde are the Barrow Gang,

I’m sure you must have read

How they rob and steal

And how those who squeal

Are usually found dying or dead.

 

-Bonnie Parker

 

          Bonnie Parker and Clyde Barrow are in the news again. This time the Depression-era killers and thieves were somehow featured photographically in Russia’s annual observation of the victory over Nazi Germany during World War II. The theme of the celebration was to honor all Russians who suffered during the war against Hitler’s invasion of Russia.

This image of Bonnie and Clyde
was shown to a Russian audience
at a national celebration recently.

          A photograph of the bandit-lovers from Texas appeared among the images of Russians who suffered during the horrible conflict in the 1940s during the state-sponsored event this week. And the Russian people did suffer horrifically after the German army invaded Mother Russia. Look it up: As much as we owe to the Red Army for the destruction to the Nazi war machine, so too do we owe to the courage of the Russian people.

          The Parker-Barrow couple died as the result of an ambush in Louisiana in 1934, nearly a decade before the Germans attacked the Russians. Further, neither Parker nor Barrow had immediate links – to my knowledge – to Russia. The guns used by Fred Hammer’s posse that killed the outlaws were of American manufacturer. Clyde preferred the American-made Browning Automatic Rifle to all other weapons. That’s ironic, since one of the weapons used by the ambushers was a BAR.

          That begs the question: Why would an image of Bonnie and Clyde be inserted among those shown at a celebration of the Russian victory over the Germans? Assuming that every image shown on the big screens at the event was intentionally shown to the Russian people at the Victory Day celebration (Vlad Putin does not seem to be the kind of guy to leave things to chance; surely the right people had control of the images viewed), there had to be a message.

          Bonnie Parker wrote poetry. The words above were part of a poem she wrote about her life on the run, The Story of Bonnie and Clyde. That poem may supply the answers to our question. Take the stanza quoted above and note the words,

How they rob and steal

and how those who squeal

Are usually found dying or dead.

 

          From what we are given to understand about the Russian President, he formally led the KGB, Russia’s state police. Bonnie’s words could be interpreted as a threat to Putin’s people: What happens in Russia stays in Russia. Otherwise, squealers, you’ll be found dying or dead.

Bonnie and Clyde.

          A more uplifting stanza could be aimed at the Russian people, telling them that things are not so bad as they seem. Bonnie wrote:

From heart-break some people have suffered;

From weariness some people have died;

But take it all-in-all,

Our troubles are small

Till we get like Bonnie and Clyde.

 

          Bonnie Parker’s poetry has a philosophical bent. For example, she wrote that, “Death is the wages of sin.” But there is no more telling point than the one she made in her final stanza. Perhaps it sums up the life expectancy of all criminals, be they elected or not. Bonnie wrote:

         

Some day they’ll go down together;

And they’ll bury them side by side;

To few it’ll be grief

To the law a relief

But it’s death for Bonnie and Clyde.

         

          The infamous couple was not buried side by side. Instead, they were interred in separate cemeteries. But the Barrow Gang’s violent ways begat more violence and finally brought about the Gang’s fall. Partially because of Bonnie’s poetry and not a little because of the trail of blood they left behind them, the Parker-Barrow tandem has never really been out of America’s consciousness. It looks like they’re as popular as ever.

          Especially in Russia.

 

Getting an early start

 

          It was a grand May day. It was late in the month, a festive time of year. The sun was out but it wasn’t too hot. We were far enough inland that there was no fog in the air. We were close to the Pacific Ocean, but not close enough for fog.

          Fittingly enough, we were gathered on a football field and we had attracted a huge crowd. Much of my professional life would later be spent at football fields where crowds packed the grandstands. This time, nobody called “set, hut,” but I would have been much more comfortable if someone had.

          Instead of footballs, platitudes filled the air. It was my college graduation. Well, mine and a few thousand very close friends. We packed the joint. My parents, other relatives and even some friends sat proud and amazed in the stands while I sat down on the field somewhere.

          “Elder graduated,” the people scoffed. “This I gotta see.”

          Now, about those platitudes. I assume there were some thrown around. Isn’t that what you do when speaking at a graduation? The world has problems, speakers say, but this bunch of geniuses will surely solve all of them. With all of the experienced and learned instructors we have at this high-class university, this group of graduates simply must be capable of leading our society to victory.

          The keynote speaker for this event was the governor of a state in Mexico. I never learned – because I didn’t care – which state he was from. I am told he spoke in Spanish, but I don’t know that for a fact. Despite my four semesters of university-level Spanish classes, I completed my education knowing very little of that language. Of course, I only took four semesters of Spanish because I failed one of them and had to re-take the class I flunked. I got credit for three semesters. There was an interpreter at the graduation to explain what the keynote guy said to the masses, so my failure to understand what the guy said had nothing to do with my ability to speak or understand that language.

          No, the reason that I have no idea what might have been said during the ceremony noting my graduation from a great American university was that I had decided to take the first step in my professional development that day. There was no reason to delay. My parents, I was certain, would understand my decision. After all, I had completed the needed work to be awarded a diploma. I was in attendance at the ceremony. I had completed my obligations. I even wore a tie under my robe and funny cap. No one said I had to listen to the speakers, whoever they were.

          Instead, using a skill developed during my elementary school years at World Series time, I listened to the broadcast of the Indianapolis 500 on a transistor radio. Remember those? I had an ear plug jammed in one ear and a finger jammed in the other ear so I could hear the broadcast over the pitifully dull proceedings which I was attending.

          Rick Mears won that day, a terrific drive against a field that included three of the four men who finished their careers with four Indy wins. I told the story years later to a docent at the Indianapolis Motor Speedway Museum. He walked me down some stairs to a lower floor which is not always available to the public and said to me, “There’s the car you heard win that day.”

          Great moment.

          Even when I was still in college I knew that, somehow, auto racing would play a role in my business life. I knew I would become a sports journalist and I felt that my interest in and knowledge of racing would give me an advantage someday. It did. I eventually spent 25 years working in that industry.

          I often think about that day all those Mays ago. I love to tell the story. Mears and Foyt, the Unsers and Andretti. Janet Guthrie, whom I admired, raced that day. Many of the all-time Indy greats were in the field that year. And the race was more important to me than the ceremony I was a part of. But I will tell you something I have never admitted before: Bringing a transistor radio to the graduation ceremony was strictly against the rules. I don’t remember now what the reasoning was and I don’t care. What I do remember was that I was told not to do it. Breaking that rule made listening to the race all the sweeter.

          There were college graduation ceremonies all over our nation that day but there was only one Indy 500. And I heard it.

          Ladies and gentlemen: Start your engines.

 

 

They call it Cincinnanucky and here's why

 Today’s drive took me from northern Ohio to Louisville, Kentucky. I saw the stadiums where the Reds and Bengals play, plus the Kentucky Speedway. Somewhere in all of that I ventured near something called The Cincinnati/Northern Kentucky Regional Airport. I have a history with that airport. Not a good one, either. But what I learned during my two brushes with the place is irreplaceable because I got two great stories as a result.

          I was still a teenager the first time I ventured to step foot on that crazy, little joint. Dad sent me tickets to fly east to see him. We had a bunch of stuff planned for my visit. One of the things I wanted to do was visit the Indianapolis Motor Speedway. AGAIN. I never get enough of that place. Anyway, dad told me that I’d fly to the Cincinnati airport, change planes, then head for Indiana.

          As I recall, the flight was uneventful until we landed. That’s when the fight attendant welcomed us to KENTUCKY, told us what time it was IN KENTUCKY and informed us that we had reached KENTUCKY on time. All passengers seeking connecting flights IN THE NORTHERN KENTUCKY REGIONAL AIRPORT had arrived in plenty of time to take their next flight, taking them out of KENTUCKY. At no time did the flight attendant mention the magic word, CINCINNATI.

          I got off that plane as quickly as I could, found a phone booth and placed a collect call to my dad.

          ME: Dad! The idiot pilot screwed up! We flew to Kentucky instead of Cincinnati.

          DAD: He didn’t make a mistake. That’s the Cincinnati airport.

          ME: Dad! Cincinnati is in Ohio, right? Where the Reds play? I said I’m in KENTUCKY!

          The truth is that my geographic knowledge for anything east of Arizona and west of North America was a little weaker than it is now. But even then, I was aware that Cincinnati was NOT in Kentucky. The conversation resumed:

          DAD: The airport is right on the border with Kentucky and Ohio. It’s very close to Cincinnati, so they call it the Cincinnati airport.

          ME: Even though it’s in Kentucky?

          DAD: That’s right.

          Not all together true, as it turned out. The Cincinnati airport, the one in Kentucky, is about an hour from the Ohio line. It would be just as easy for Cincinnati fliers to drive to the Dayton, Ohio airport or the one serving the airline industry in Columbus, Ohio. Both of those airports are in Ohio, which shows truth in advertising.

          Years later, I was headed back for another go in Kentucky. Or Cincinnati. Or whatever. Once again, I was traveling to Indianapolis, this time to cover the 500 for the radio station I worked for. There was a media breakfast I wanted to attend because AJ Foyt was going to be there. I said AJ Foyt. Yes, THAT AJ Foyt. He was going to speak at this media function. I had secured tickets for dad and me to attend this event.

          But things did not go as planned when the pilots attempted to bring our plane to the Northern Kentucky airport. We circled for a while and then landed somewhere else. Maybe the pilots actually circled Cincinnati, trying to find the airport, I don’t know. After a while, they loaded us back in the plane and flew us to KENTUCKY. I had missed my connecting flight. I’d be added to the next flight to Indianapolis, scheduled to leave KENTUCKY the next afternoon.

          Well, the heck with that. I wasn’t going to skip having breakfast with AJ Foyt because of some problem, you know, wherever we were. I tried to rent a car. No rental agencies had cars. I tried to catch a bus. The airport was closed to busses because of a hideous traffic snarl at the Kentucky airport that was not in Cincinnati. But I did discover that there was a bus leaving for Indy about an hour from the time I learned about it. All I had to do was find a taxi, race to a bus station in the middle of some city that I don’t recall now and get on the bus before it left town.

          Try that sometime after midnight in the middle of Kentucky.

          But a kindly taxi driver was sitting at the curb when I walked out the terminal door. I explained my problem. He said, “Sure, kid.” Then we waited for the people who had called for the cab in the first place. When the cabbie explained that he would drop me off first, the other people were upset. Then I explained that I had arranged for my mortally ill father (who was in perfect health) to meet his idol, AJ Foyt (Foyt is my idol, not dad’s) at a breakfast that morning and I HAD to catch the bus. And the wonderful people in that cab waived off their objections. I made the bus by several minutes. Maybe I made it because I was not slowed down due to carrying my luggage. The airline had it somewhere.

          The guy I sat next to on the bus that night wanted to talk all the way to Indy. I finally asked him to be quiet and, to his credit, he did.

Dad brought shaving gear to the bus station in Indianapolis, so I would be presentable at the very professional event I was attending. As I shaved in the men’s room, Dad kept saying, over and over again, “I’ll be darned. I didn’t think you’d make it.”

But we did. Dad and I made it to that media breakfast. Dad watched as I interviewed the greatest driver in the history of the world, AJ Foyt. I know Dad enjoyed watching me interview Foyt, but he was probably prouder of my wild, late-night dash from the Cincinnati airport, wherever it is, to Indianapolis.

I’m just glad that I didn’t have to drive back to the Cincinnati airport. I might have looked for it in Ohio.

Thanks for reading.